Guilty Heart, Ashamed Tears
by Werewolf of Suburbia
Summary: Quince had seen the resentment and hatred in Tiny's eyes. Seen it, and ignored it. When Socks and Ruby tell her of Tiny, and the monster he's become, she knows who's to blame and it isn't her kittens. A insight to the thoughts of Scourge's mother.


Got the idea late one night after reading "Rise of Scourge" for the millionth time. Don't know how good it is, since it mostly came to me by title and summary alone. But I gave it my best shot. And, for the sake of copyright infringement lawyers, NO I DON'T OWN WARRIORS!!

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In the quaint little home on Mulberry street, there lived a family, one who was entirely confused. Their pet cat, Quince, was acting odd. Odd enough that they had taken her to the vet yesterday, and he'd told them that there was nothing wrong with her, outside of something akin to depression. But what would Quince have been depressed about? Her mate had died almost a year ago, and her three kittens were gone. Two were in homes and the third had vanished. To the family's knowledge, anyway.

Quince wouldn't have told them even is she could, but it was her kittens that had her depressed. More like grieving. The humans hadn't noticed and they remained oblivious, but her two oldest kittens, Socks and Ruby, had come see her about two days ago. And they were both so thin, you could see their ribs. And that had hurt her, hurt that her children were unable to survive as she had wanted them to.

But it was the tale they told her, the tale of her missing youngest son, Tiny, which left her in guilt and grief. They had come to her one night while she was out in the garden before being shut in the house for the night. They had stopped to say goodbye before going off to see if they couldn't find new housefolk. Quince had offered to get food for them, but they'd already eaten, thinks to Tiny.

Or rather, Scourge, the leader of Bloodclan. Her little son was now the leader of a band of savage cats in the human place not far away. He was now ruthless, cold, unforgiving. It was probably half-miracle, at least, that when Ruby and Socks had approached him, he'd actually let them eat, although he'd given them a lecture and had them escorted away from his territory, telling his cats his littermates were not welcome on his land.

He was legend now, on the streets. Everyone feared him, respected him, came to him about their problems. He was everything Quince had wanted her kittens to be, well, kind of. But it had come at a price, his compassion, his love. Had Quince been human, she would have thought Tiny had only just stopped before selling his soul to the devil, but as it was, she didn't know what to think.

She remembered him before he disappeared. He had only wanted to be treated like a true brother by his littermates, to be liked, even though he was so small. Ruby and Socks had always hated him, thought he was nothing worthwhile, because of his size. Quince had tried, but her oldest two just didn't care.

Eventually, she had given up. Maybe she should have tried harder. And when the hurt in Tiny's eyes had turned to resentment, maybe even hate, she had pretended not to see, focused instead on teaching her oldest how to fight, but she had never taught him. And when he'd come back from where he'd disappeared that once, and came back so excited about the adventure, she hadn't believed him.

She had pretended, but he saw through that, she knew it. And when the humans had come to see her kittens, Tiny had hidden, looking disgusted and resentful, watching Ruby and Socks act cute, as she had ordered them. She had talked to them about the day, but she had never told Tiny, he'd only overheard.

She had never said he was going to a new home, like his littermates, but she had never understood why he had disappeared. Not until Ruby had confessed that she had told her brother about unwanted kittens being thrown into the river. It explained why he was trying to act cute too the next day, and why he was so horrified when they'd passed him without even seeing him.

He'd gone into the forest, had wanted to show that he could be tough just like his bigger littermates no doubt, and Quince hadn't seen him again. Not because he got lost, or worse, killed, but because he thought they'd toss him into the river. Then he'd managed to gain popularity in the streets. Popularity, and cold-heartedness. Tiny became Scourge, and now he was a murderer. Killed in cold-blood like the savage forest cats he had once so innocently asked about.

Ruby and Socks had told this the night they'd visited. Had told her about the lecture, about the unwelcoming tone in his voice the entire time he'd talked to them. It was obvious in his eyes that he recognized them the minute he saw them, and his hatred of them had not changed over time. His voice when he made it perfectly clear that neither of his littermates were welcome ever again, it had scared them.

But Quince hadn't heard his voice, and it didn't scare her. What it did was make her feel guilty. She felt so ashamed of herself, because of what she'd done to her son—and, more importantly, what she hadn't done.

She hadn't made her oldest two realize that Tiny was still their brother, and still capable even despite his size. She hadn't taught him to fight, she hadn't believed him when he'd told her about the forest outing, she hadn't shown him off to the humans like with Ruby and Socks. She hadn't treated him as equal as she had treated his littermates.

And now look at him, at where he was and what he was doing. And it didn't matter what anyone told her, if they had known, but Quince knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was her fault. Scourge was all her fault. And it horrified her that she had basically unleashed a cold-blooded killer onto the world.

But what Quince really felt was guilty, guilty and ashamed, right down to her very soul. She knew, she had seen it, and she could have stopped it. Could have been a good mother to her third son, like she was to the other two, and maybe things wouldn't be like they were now. Maybe her son would still be the innocent curious soul she knew he once was.

So she curled up near the basket her kittens had slept in, or in it, and rarely ate and baffled and worried her housefolk. She would have cried everyday maybe even, if she were capable of tears. When she glanced at the picture of her mate, she remembered how she had told it about their kits.

"But I see your spirit in them just the same." She had said. And she had, in all of them, even Tiny, as much as it was nearly invisible. But she hadn't cultivated it in her youngest son, not like she had for her oldest son and only daughter. None of them had had his ginger fur, but they had his spirit. There was no denying that.

Her mate had been nearly fearless, exploring the forest at his leisure; bringing back tales to her about wild forest cats who must struggle to survive every day and every night. It had scared her then, and still sometimes scared her now, when she thought about it. When Tiny had asked, she had been concerned about the interest he'd shown in the place, nearly identical to the one his father before him had had.

She had been so worried that day he had gone outside while they were all napping, so scared that some wild forest cat had nabbed him, maybe even hurt or, worse, killed him. That he hadn't gone far relieved Quince immensely, and she had scolded him for it. Had told him about he cats, and that they were a scourge on the name of all good cats like them.

Scourge, how ironic. Now every cat out in the streets knew his name, and it wasn't the one she'd called him. Quince had no doubts it was from her that her son had gotten his new name, and now he lived on the streets, cold-blooded and ruthless as any cat could ever hope to go, near as she knew. Tiny was Scourge, and a scourge he was on all cat kind even, maybe.

And it was all her fault.

The hatred and hurt that had flashed in his eyes whenever Ruby and Socks had complained about him.

"He's too weak!"

"He mewls too much!"

"It's no fun to play with him!"

"He's such a little pipsqueak!"

And maybe the final straw had come that day she had scolded them for the last time before the humans had come…

"We don't like him!"

A benediction, if ever there was one. Ruby and Socks could care less about their brother, and that was when Quince had given up. Had focused more on their getting adopted by other humans, then their treatment of their brother.

And she had seen the resentment and loathing in his blue eyes as he overheard their conversation about the housefolk. Had seen it, had ignored it, had focused more on her eldest then her youngest, and decided that it was not there. But it was, and now Quince couldn't deny it, now she couldn't pretend that there was something else to focus on, and she couldn't ignore it.

It had been there, it had been there since Tiny had given up getting his brother and sister's approval, and it had replaced the almost constant hurt in his eyes from before. And now it had turned into hatred, ruthlessness, and murder among cats. And Quince knew who was at fault. Not her son and daughter, although it could be seen that way. Not the housefolk they'd lived with, or that had ignored Tiny in favor of his littermates.

She, and she alone, was the cause of this. Because she hadn't done what she should have. Because she had ignored the problem, had hoped that pretending it didn't exist would make it go away.

Quince had heard of the tales of the alley cats in the human place, how they were maybe even worse then the forest cats who at least didn't kill for the sake if it. She had heard of the newest leader of these cats, but she had not thought it was her son. Not till she had seen Ruby and Socks. Now she knew, and she wished she didn't.

Of his blue eyes, cold and unyielding, not caring for pleas of mercy, bitter and hate-filled. His claws were dyed red with blood now, and his heart was black as the night sky, his fangs leaving lasting marks in the pelts of the cats he killed. The spirit he had inherited from his father had become twisted and full of rage and undying loathing. She had heard of Scourge, even if she hadn't known his name.

Quince lay curled up on the sofa, staring at the basket and wished with all her heart that she had tried harder with her youngest son. She thought of all the lost opportunities, and wept, in a cat way, as she remembered what those lost moments meant in the here and now.

He had wanted to prove himself, show that his size meant nothing in the long run, and he had. But Quince could not feel proud, too busy feeling shame so deep that the river looked like a puddle, for the fact that he had proved himself by becoming the monster he was today—a monster she had created.

No one would blame her, of that she knew, if they knew what she did. Certainly Ruby and Socks didn't hold it against her, and actually, seemed to hold it against themselves mostly. They would tell her not to blame herself, that she couldn't have done anything different, that he was just a bad seed.

But Tiny WASN'T. He'd been curious and unhappy, but he had been willing to get the approval of his littermates, and had been hardly more then just upset with them. Quince knew that there was so many things her bright-eyed kitten could have done, and it shamed her that that kitten was a killer.

Was there anything left of that bright-eyed kit in Scourge? Quince seriously doubted it, and she did so because she knew that she had killed that kit. By paying attention to her oldest two, but not making them realize the importance of their brother as an individual, regardless of his size, she had killed her son. Not in a physical sense, but a spiritual one.

What would his father think, if he were still alive, and knew what Quince knew?

"I'm so sorry, my love. I have failed you, and I have failed our children, but most importantly, I have failed Tiny. Failed him so horribly." She wept to her mate's picture on the shelf. The picture remained silent. Quince didn't care.

For all Quince's remaining years, she never had another litter. She didn't want to have kittens not of her mate, and she didn't want to be a mother again. She didn't think she could do the job properly. She had failed her Tiny, so badly she had failed him, and she couldn't take the idea of failing another kit. Couldn't stand the guilt of the idea that she could create another monster.

She never heard of her son's death at the hands of the forest cats that she so feared, and she never would know what was to become of him. Maybe it was better that way, maybe it wasn't, who's to say? But with or without the knowledge of Tiny's demise as Scourge, the most feared and respected of all street cats, she remained weighed down heavily by guilt and shame.

She had seen his bitterness, and his hate, but she had done nothing about it. And Quince knew that she had brought about the murderer he was now.

And when she died, the cat-tears of shame and guilt raced through her fur, and shattered her failing heart. And there is nothing sadder then a cat dead of a broken heart, especially when it was guilt that broke it.

And when she was mourned, they called her a loving mother, a good cat, and probably the best mate her love could have ever chosen. They never knew, never, about her youngest, tiniest son, and the monster he had become, or that Quince had been the reason for it.

They never knew of her shame, or her guilt. They thought her tears of sorrow or maybe happiness.

They never knew she was the mother of Scourge. A monster, a monster she had made. She would spend eternity crying, and none would ever know it. Crying cat-tears for her son, and what she hadn't done, and what that had meant for him.

Cat-tears of shame, and guilt.


End file.
